


Some Lazy Morning

by quicksparrows



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 21:26:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4035154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quicksparrows/pseuds/quicksparrows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frederick and Cherche share a lazy morning and some love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Lazy Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Frederick's thighs tho.

Frederick so appreciates these lazy mornings.

It is only with the war over and peace upon them that these lazy mornings are possible at all, but with his wife there is someone to appreciate them with. There is nothing more preferable, in his eyes, than waking up with her in reach, but it is only sometimes, on a rare morning where training new recruits has not peeled them from the sheets before dawn, that he wakes when the sun is already risen to find her nestled against his side with a hand lazily roving his body.

Those lazy mornings are sacred.

Cherche wakes him that morning at eight –- late, for them. He wakes to her pulling his cotton trousers from his hips and fondling his cock, and by time he’s fully awake, he is hard in her hand.

“Good morning,” she says, cheery.

“Good morning, love,” he replies.

 She gives him a brief kiss on his jaw and peels herself from his side to sit up, and then she straddles him. He loves the weight of her, her hips broader than his and pinning him into the bed, and she sits so his erect cock rests against her lips. When she slowly rides him, he can feel her wetness along his entire length. He loves it. He gives a hum from somewhere at the back of his throat, and she just smiles at him.

“What would you have done if I hadn’t woke?” Frederick asks. His hands rove up her sides, and she grinds forward. He presses indents into her thighs with his fingertips.

Her hands slide up his abdomen, under his shirt. (Ah, if only he slept as nude as she did!)

“Continued,” she replies, cheeky as always.

“I see,” he chuckles, “I will have to retaliate when you least expect it, then.”

“Do,” Cherche says around a smile, and she gyrates her hips just so, and Frederick digs his heels into the mattress to press back up against her. The goldenness of the morning sun makes her skin seem to glow, and he watches her with mixed admiration and pleasure as she rises up on her knees and guides his cock into her; she is beautiful, somehow more beautiful than the day before, and the day before that. _Do,_ indeed.

She rides him until he comes, and then he turns her over for her turn, one hand running deft circles on her clit and the other hand pistoning fingers in and out of her, curved to hit that one sweet spot of hers. She comes noisier than he does, as usual, and then she’s at bliss in his arms, draped against him and still soaked in the morning sun.

“What time are we going down to breakfast?” Cherche asks, some moments later. She leans up on one elbow so they can share little looks, and he's as delighted by the sly look in her eye as the curve of her lips.

“Never,” Frederick tells her, and he cups her groin with the broad palm of his hand and squeezes gently. “My breakfast is right here.”

She laughs, of course. She is the insatiable one of the two of them, he thinks, but he can match her pace when he feels like it, and these days he does more than ever.

“And the recruits, who will do their daily inspection?” she asks.

“Chrom is more than capable,” Frederick says. It feels strange to say; before this peace, he never would have uttered such a thing, but now their army has become one of builders and farmers, their blacksmiths have become artisans and artists, and their guard has become nothing more than a symbol, a formality.

“And Minerva?” Cherche asks. “She will get hungry if I do not feed her before noon, and I would loathe to be the stableboy who strays too close to her gate…”

Frederick laughs.

“Such excuses,” he says, “Are you so eager to leave our bed?”

Cherche sits up then, as if she might pull away from him entirely, but instead she stretches out along his side and runs a hand down his exposed thigh, all the way from the juncture of his hip to his knee, where his trousers are bunched. Her palm roves over his thick muscles so fondly; they are, after all, the same strong legs that thrust him into her, that lift her up against walls and against the nice furniture, and bring her such satisfaction just to look at them.

“Never,” she tells him, as her hand slips along his inner thigh. “In truth, I am eager to see how many times I can have you again first.”

And she does.


End file.
